Rewind
by muselover75
Summary: Aidan sits alone in a familiar place, wanting nothing more than to have that morning back.


Tyler, I really hate you sometimes.

Of course that's not true. Not a single word.

We're just all trying to find a way to cope. Never in any of our minds did we think that on that ordinary morning, you'd be leaving us.

Talk about a kick in the stomach. One minute I'm flirting with that cute piece of ass on the phone, and the next, Ally and I are rushing to our rooftop.

What we saw next literally took our breaths away.

I remember when we first moved in together, shooting the bull as we talked about our upbringings and family life. You told me that your Dad worked in the North World Trade Center tower while your Mom was in social work; I told you my Dad worked in real estate and my mom was a lawyer. As much as I love them, I was happy to meet you and finally get the chance to move out of the house. Like most guys, I was looking forward to being able to openly smoke pot or have a one night stand without an awkward encounter with my parents the next morning. I bet you didn't even realize what you were getting into when we first decided to become roommates.

The apartment's empty without you, man. It's just…lifeless, way too quiet, and your shit is everywhere. No matter where I turn, there's a reminder of you: Michael's guitar that still sits in the armchair, your sneakers that you took off in the living room, your backpack that sits half-zipped in the hallway where you dropped it.

Your Mom and Caroline came by a few weeks after you left. Diane just wanted a few things to take back to their place. She rooted through your closet and took a shirt she bought you. There was another pair of shoes that went with her, along with your photographs of Michael. I think she was tempted to take the guitar, but she left it. She repeatedly asked Caroline if she wanted anything of yours, but she just shook her head no. She and I sat on the couch together while your Mom was in your room, and she told me that our place still felt likes yours, which is why she wouldn't take anything. I sadly told her I felt the same way.

I noticed your Mom trying to find your journal, but I think she knew better. We knew without a doubt that you took it with you that morning; it was almost like an extension of yourself. It's just sad that we now have lost another piece of you. Always mothering, she told me that I was welcome at their place anytime. I thanked her and continued sitting in silence after they left.

Ally stills drops by. A few nights after it happened I heard a knock on the door and was surprised to see her there. She smiled sadly at me, and without a word I let her in. I returned to the couch as I watched her make her way back to your room. After removing her shoes, she climbed onto the bed and lay down on her stomach, smelling your pillow. I pretended not to hear the sobs coming from her as I let her grieve as privately as I could.

That one time occurrence turned into a ritual, and now, she spends the night a couple times each week. Mostly we lay in silence. She lays in your bed and I in mine, no doubt both our thoughts are centered on you. Sometimes she cries and cries and I don't say anything. I know what she's feeling, and she should be able to mourn without an audience. Other times she falls asleep almost instantly while I lay, looking up at the ceiling as silent tears run down my cheeks to gather on my pillow. One time the only thing she said to me was, "I miss him," and I smiled sadly before saying, "Me too." I always make sure to check on her before I drift off. Although we've never talked about you, I want to give her that option to do so if she wants. I know what it's like to carry that weight with you everywhere you go and she deserve the chance to get some of it off her chest if she wants to.

It's been three months, and we're still not able to take the sheets off your bed to wash them. I don't feel like it's my place to do so, and I know Ally doesn't have the heart, either. She also has taken a few things from the apartment, mainly clothes that were at the end of your bed that you hadn't gotten around to washing yet. I suspect she wears them in bed at her Dad's place to be able to sleep at night. I think a few books of yours went along with her, too. I don't remember; I don't feel the need to keep track of what goes where.

It's not always somber, though. We sometimes watch TV or she cooks us dinner. Thank God for that because ramen noodles get boring as fuck when you have them five nights in a row.

You'd be proud that, so far, I'm able to keep up with the rent. Admittedly, I was worried about it after the shock wore off and we all faced the reality of what life without you would be like. A normal routine seems out of the question now, but an attack on our country doesn't keep the bills from making their way to the mailbox. I considered asking around at school, seeing if anyone needed a roommate, but I just can't do it. Getting a new roommate would mean moving your stuff out and letting someone else in, and I can't do that. I took you for granted more than I realized, and for that I'm sorry. I was just so used to you being there that I never imagined a day you wouldn't be.

That night, after Ally left to go home to make sure her Dad was okay, was the loneliest night of my life. I kept waiting for you to come through the door, asking if I had dinner yet. I'm not too proud to admit that I cried myself to sleep. Everything was just strange. Off. The noise never died down and everything stunk. The smell of smoke and dust didn't get any better as the sun set.

I replayed that morning over and over in my head as I remembered the sight of the black smoke against the blue sky. The screeching of the sirens as fire trucks and police cars raced their way toward the towers.

Ally almost fell apart on me, but I tried to keep my shit together for her sake. She nearly fainted, which is exactly what I would have needed. If that had happened, I wouldn't have had the first clue what to do, and getting help would have proven difficult as most of the paramedics were no doubt in the Trade Center complex.

She's a strong girl, though; I always knew she was, but she refused to turn away and go back to our place. I know she was in as much shock as I was, and I think she wanted to witness this herself—to prove that her imagination wasn't making up an awful scenario like this. In a way, she refused to leave you. Like me, she was hoping with everything inside us that you'd be making your way home any minute now. Any second you'd be coming through the front door, wondering where we were.

I have yet to return to the rooftop. I have no desire to ever stand there again. No doubt it will be layered with dust and ash, just like the thin layer that still coats the rest of the city. Not many people can say they live and sleep under the exact spot where their worst nightmare happened, but I can. A part of me wanted to move out altogether after it happened, but I knew I couldn't distance myself from your space that much. I can't bring myself to move your stuff because some nights I still expect you to come home.

Fuck you, Tyler. I know you're probably laughing your ass off at me for pouring my heart out to you and being sentimental, but we've all changed since you passed.

French toast. French toast. That's the last fucking thing I said to you. I still shake my head at the meaningless words that came out of my mouth that morning. I know you were answering Ally's question when she asked what you wanted for breakfast, but I answered for you. Knowing you, you probably laughed, but I still can't believe that's the last thing I ever said to you. Not "see you later" or "we'll wait up for you," but instead…French toast.

Needless to say, I'll never eat another piece of that shit for as long as I live.

If only I could get that morning back. Had we known what was to happen, you'd never step foot out that door. You wouldn't have been there, and hopefully your Dad wouldn't have, either. Nobody would have to feel what we all feel now.

But, if in some alternative universe, we were given the opportunity to know when a last conversation between another person would happen, I would have told you I loved you. It's not my way, but I wish…no, I _hope_ you know that I did. You were the brother I never had. The friend that I needed to get into trouble with. The person that listened to my bullshit and put up with my bad habits. I only hope that I was as much as that for you like you were for me.

I'm trying harder in school. Who knew that your college years were actually to get an education instead of partying and drinking? My professors were shocked that I was actually staying awake and taking notes when classes resumed. I finally just realized how much I was wasting my time on other things. Don't get me wrong—if I see a cute girl, I'm definitely going to work my charm on her, but I'm sort of proud of myself that I haven't failed a single semester since that day. I know. You're as shocked as I am. But hopefully a little bit proud, too.

It's weird, man. On the way to classes or restaurants, I still look for you. My heartbeat picks up anytime I see a guy lighting a cigarette. Oddly enough, for some reason I expect you to be standing beside him, lighting your own. Living in a city like New York, you take for granted just how many people you pass on the streets; you become accustomed to the masses of people who walk and occupy these streets, the crowds that gather in restaurants and bars. I feel like I've just recently opened my eyes for the first time.

Every time I leave the apartment, I glance in every direction, behind me, down the street, and at intersections, just expecting to find you. All of us held the highest hope that by some miracle you'd make it out alive, because if anybody could, it'd be you. I didn't know the exact floor your Dad worked on, and I almost threw up when I found out his office was only a few floors down from the top. That's a piece of information that will haunt me for the rest of my life.

Caroline is coping. You're probably pissed that I haven't talked about her more before now. She's a strong girl and she'll be alright. In the weeks since you've passed, I've begun hanging out with her. I hope that's all right with you, because I know I can't take your place. I wouldn't even try. We both know that it's not the same, but I'm trying. She seems to be like me, but she's too kind to tell me to my face if she doesn't.

She told me that, on that afternoon, you were supposed to go to a restaurant for a snack before heading to your Mom's place. I was at a loss for words, so I offered to take her. I anxiously watched as the guilt washed across her face. She never said, but I think she tore herself apart, torn between wanting to keep the things you did locked away, separate from possibly making new memories with somebody else. I assured her that I wasn't trying to take your place, but figured that you'd like the idea of her having another big brother figure in her life.

After a few days, she said I could pick her up from school next week and she'd go with me. Never in my life did I think the approval of an eleven-year-old would matter so much, but when it came to Caroline, it did.

When the next week rolled around, I picked her up on Thursday. Your Mom told me that since your passing, Caroline was having trouble eating, but I finally tempted her with a milkshake while I inhaled a turkey club. I felt guilty as fuck, but felt better when she confided in me. She told me that school was different, but in a weird way. Those little bitches… sorry… I shouldn't call seventh graders _bitches_. In my defense, I never said that some old habits didn't die hard. Let me try again. Those…girls that were picking on her finally stopped, but just the atmosphere in general was different.

Apparently, a few classmates also lost family members that day, and the teacher let them have an entire class period to share anything they wanted to. Caroline was unable to, though. She said that she felt like, by not talking about you, it kept you closer and made the situation not so real. Biting her lip, she told me that she then instantly felt selfish for not sharing how "awesome" you were with the rest of her classmates. I told her that she shouldn't feel that way; that she didn't need to do or say anything she didn't want to.

Ironically enough, I also haven't shared you with anyone from school. I never really became friends with anyone in any of my classes, so I didn't feel the need to talk shit out with somebody in an attempt at bullshit bonding. It wouldn't have been sincere, anyway. Sure, people are always there for you when a tragedy happens…when things are going bad, but who's willing to strike up a conversation when everything's going all right? Everybody is too worried about their own ordinary lives.

It didn't hit me until later on how much I shared with you, how much I relied on you. Growing up as an only child, you become accustomed to not having somebody there, but I never had that problem with you. Even when you were writing to Michael or living with the regret of telling Ally the truth, you always had my back. Not once did you ever take a rain check or tell me you were too busy. You went with me to the movies even when you felt like shit, and you never cussed me out for getting Ally drunk that night. Although if we're being honest, I'm the reason why she moved in, so you bet your ass I'm totally taking credit for getting you two together.

You're welcome.

I'm sorry that you went the way you did. You didn't deserve that, none of you did. I cannot even fathom what that must have been like. Morbidly enough, we'd all like to believe that you went quickly, without any pain, but of course we can't be sure. If there's a God, I hope He showed you mercy and took you without you even realizing what was happening. It was absolutely horrifying to watch, realizing that the dots beside the towers were people falling through the air. As soon as I understood what was happening, I didn't say anything to Ally. She's smart, though; she witnessed it too, but it's just too much to bear. Whether you suffered or not, I'm truly sorry. You were the brother I never had and it wasn't your time. You weren't supposed to go yet; you weren't supposed to leave us.

But, if there's any peace in the situation, I believe you're with Michael again. I regret not getting the chance to meet him, but hope that I'll be able to someday. His death helped shape the person you became, and I know how heavy life seemed without him sometimes. I now know firsthand…because of you. I can sympathize all too well now.

I hate you for it.

But of course that's not true.

If you need any further validation, the tattoo on my arm is proof of that. I waited to get it; the hope always there that you'd come back. It hurt like fuck, so you're welcome. It wasn't until I was lying on the table, with the tattoo artist asking me questions, when I truly wanted to spill everything. I craved to tell someone—I'll use Caroline's word—how _awesome_, you were. I wanted to tell him how selfless you were in caring for your Mom and Caroline after your parents' divorce. I wanted to share the time we bet each other how many cheeseburgers we could eat… and how we spent the next night throwing up. I wanted to laugh at the memory of you criticizing my genius idea of the S.L.U.T.

It was brilliant. Just fucking admit it, Tyler.

So many things I wanted to spill, but wasn't able to. I wanted to confide in someone, even a total stranger, how days after it happened I broke down every time I turned on the news and saw the near constant coverage of the attacks. In that moment, I didn't even care if he judged me or not. I just wanted to unload for a few hours.

But instead, I remained closed lip, feeling the needle repeatedly dragging across my arm. I rolled onto my side that night and winced as my weight compressed my sore arm into the mattress. How you were able to sit through Michael's name on your chest, I'll never fucking know. I'm not too macho to admit that I probably looked like a pussy compared to you. But that's you; you had to show me up in everything you did. And I don't even hate you for it.

It wasn't until a few days later that I wondered if the tattoo artist thought we were gay. Amazingly, I was able to smile, laugh off what a stranger thought of my manhood. Admittedly, he probably didn't get a lot of requests from men to get another man's name tattooed on them – and in such an open place, too. I still don't regret not telling the tattoo artist about you. Oddly enough, I wonder where the artist is that gave you your tattoo. I doubt he would have remembered you, but it would have been cool to get mine done by the same guy.

About two weeks after that morning, your Mom invited me over for dinner. She saw how much I was struggling. Because she's Diane, she gave me advice on how to try to cope with your passing. She told me that it didn't matter how I grieved, as long as I did. Apparently it was okay to feel whatever I was feeling. I thought I had been doing a pretty good job at working through my emotions— ranging from anger to denial to sadness—but she saw through the mask.

Inspiration struck later that week when I found myself in a bookstore purchasing a journal. It seemed to help you cope when memories of Michael burned too bright. I'm not as vulnerable, as empathetic, or sympathetic as you, but I figured I'd give it a shot. What do I have to lose, right?

So, I write to you when I'm feeling sad. I write to you when I'm feeling overwhelmed. When I pass a cute chick on the sidewalk, or just about random shit. I've never given much thought to the afterlife. I suppose that's because I've never lost anyone close to me before. I don't know if there's a Heaven or Hell or if people get caught in limbo, but I really do believe that you read what I write to you. I believe that you still check in on your parents and on Ally and me at night when you silently roam through our houses.

I choose to believe that you'd want what's best for us, rather than see us as completely lost as we feel. I believe that maybe one day you'll send Ally a suitable man for her, but not for a while yet. She's still your girl and she loves you as much now as the day she moved in. It'll be hard seeing her with someone else, but she's too young to be alone for the rest of her life.

I'd also like to believe that you shut off the power or flick the lights for a few minutes at her place when her Dad is there alone. You're not an asshole like me, but I can see you messing with the dick every once in a while. He was also there that morning, trying to help people out, getting injured occupants into ambulances, and staying on the line with firefighters who were on their way up in the buildings. Later on, Ally shared how proud she was of him, but how bad she felt that he'd most likely be traumatized for the rest of his life.

Maybe everybody has changed since that day, Tyler.

I mostly write to you in the apartment since we spent so much of our time there. But other times, like today, I find myself in the coffee shop that you regularly disappeared to for hours at a time. I figure that if this place means so much to you, a part of you must still be here, too. Maybe you and Michael still regularly visit this place, chilling in a booth, watching people carry on with their lives while reminiscing about past memories. And can I just say…could you two have picked a fucking diner further away from our place? Jesus, it's cold taking the subway here, huddled in a coat, scarf wrapped around my neck in the middle of fucking December. You're the only person I'd willingly go out and trudge through the snow for. I'd kick your ass if you were still here today.

But of course, that isn't true either.

**AN: This is my second Remember Me fanfiction and I'm just as nervous as when I wrote the first! The blessed TV Guide network has recently begun showing the movie on their channel again in the past weeks (three days in a row!) and even though I had to miss a viewing because of work, from the two I did see, Remember Me continues to haunt me more than four years after the first time I saw it. **

**Needless to say, this wasn't easy to write. I debated the whole time while writing if Aidan was too out of character. I think for all of us, who have seen the movie, we'd agree that the movie would have been so terribly heavy without his character. Aidan seems to help tie Tyler to the world he's still in, finding humor in almost everything while still having a good heart. But just like when Ally left Tyler, Aidan was the one to reveal the truth to her and help them to reconcile. So that alone proves that there were times were he could be serious and not be oblivious to how much Tyler was hurting. **

**So I think if his character grew that much in just a short amount of time, he most definitely would have changed in the weeks and months following Tyler's passing. That's what grief does: it completely changes the way you see the world and changes your personality. When grief does that, it also allows you to recall cherished memories you had with a loved one. Hardly ever do you remember fights or disagreements you may have had with them, but rather memories you wish you could relive or events that they're missing out on. **

**Forgive me for rambling, but I'm still paranoid that I wrote Aidan too vastly different from the fun, lovable character we saw Tate Ellington bring to life. But my wonderful beta, SydneyAlice was the one to remind me that no one can say if this Aidan is out of character. Thank you for reassuring me, girl! If you agree (or disagree) with us, leave me a review. I'd absolutely love to hear what you all thought of it! **

**And if you have time, please also check out my other Remember Me fanfiction, **_**For Every Time I Didn't Tell You**_**. It's written from Ally's point of view and I hope it touches you as much as it touched me while writing it. **

**Last but certainly not least, if you were affected in any way by that day, my deepest sympathy goes out to you. Your loved ones are remembered every day and not just on the anniversary of that horrific morning. May they all rest in peace. **


End file.
